Nevermore
by The Mad Old THAImer
Summary: Christine has been plagued with her thoughts ever since she was kidnapped during Faust. What type of feelings did he have to her captor? She decides to search for him herself, even it means the death of her. Mostly Leroux-based, small mentions of Webber's version. I do not own anything, and all rights go to Leroux for such a brilliant novel and Webber for an excellent adaptation.
1. Part 1: The Final Dance

Part 1

"Ten minutes, Mademoiselle."

She sighed and placed down her handheld mirror. It had been nearly three months since her former angel had kidnapped her. Three months since she had last heard of him.

Three months of endless courting from Raoul. And today they were finally getting married.

Of course, to be a Vicomtesse, she had to give up her career, her very life.

But she didn't care. She was going to marry the man of her dreams. The knight of shining armor from her childhood. Her savior from that deranged man.

 _Raoul._ She sighed. Today, they would become one. The very thought felt exhilarating to her.

But why couldn't she get _him_ out of her mind?

It was as if he was an oppressive, thick layer of fog in her mind. She couldn't stop thinking about him, the murderer, the angel…

 _No Christine, he is not an angel. He killed, he kidnapped you, heck, he even tried to force you to stay with him!_ She mentally scolded herself.

 _He's probably watching my every move right now! He is, after all, the Phantom…_

Christine frowned. She could not recall one moment since that deadly accident of any odd mishaps occurring throughout the opera. True, she felt eyes following her wherever she went, even outside of the opera house. That was impossible—she found comfort in knowing that the phantom was not actually following her outside these closed walls.

But still, there were no odd occurrences in the opera. No more notes. No more demands. No more strange mishaps. The only rumors spreading about were coming from the untrustworthy ballet rats.

 _So why do I still feel that way?_

She reached for her brush, trying to tame her curly blond hair.

 _He still has some spell on me, that's why._

 _But does he really? Or is it just you?_

Ever since that night, she had not sung as well as before. It was if, with the forced kisses she gave the phantom, her very voice was given to him. For him.

 _That man! He has taken even my voice!_ She thought angrily, pulling the brush forcefully. After all he did, pruning her voice, he had the nerve to take it back!

 _But it was his care to begin with that began your life. If it weren't for him, you would still be one among the ballet rats. Dear sweet Raoul would probably not even notice you._

 _That's not true, I know it's not. Raoul would've known me from a mile away!_

 _Then why did he not notice you when he first entered the opera house? He did not dare approach you until you starred in Hannibal. Did he truly recognize you then?_

Growling in frustration with the battle going on in her mind, she threw her brush down on the dresser.

 _The phantom, on the other hand, lied to me, deceived me, attempted to force himself on me…_

 _That was not true! He just demanded for you to stay with him! To be his shining light in his dungeon of despair!_

Christine shook her head. _No, I cannot think about the phantom. I must think of today…_

Raoul specifically wanted to hold their wedding here at the opera house, so, as he quoted to the managers, "she can do her final dance, and then spend the rest of her life dancing only for me."

Except Christine was not a dancer. Meg was. Christine was shocked by Raoul's statement, and confronted to him about so.

" _Did you really think of me as nothing more of a dancer, Raoul?"_

" _What are you talking about, Little Lotte? You have done nothing these past three months except dance mutely on the stage. For good riddance too, as long as you don't sing, that monster won't hold any influence over you."_

Hurt as she was, Christine just ate up Raoul's reasoning. She had promised herself so when she went to her father's grave, not wanting to pursue a path of music much longer.

In fact, up until now, she had been anxiously anticipating her leave from the opera house. Why though?

 _Was it because of him alone?_

She wasn't so sure know. A Vicomtesse must not associate with the theatre, especially not with the performers. Back then, it was so, _so_ easy to believe, to think that she wouldn't miss crowds? Nah. Carlotta? Definitely not. Piangi? He's already dead, thanks to your former angel. The stagehands? Never really liked them. The ballet rats? Never had a deep friendship with them. The phantom? Definitely didn't want to be around him anymore.

And now…

She couldn't help but think again. Meg, Madame Giry were just two of many people she realized that she'll miss talking to. True, the ballet rats weren't exactly her friends, but at least they were free and bubbly. The aristocrats, on the other hand, behaved so stiffly and formally, and held an air of arrogance that clearly told Christine, "You're not one of us."

 _I can live with this. I think. Never being able to see the Girys again. I'll have to consider them dead, just like my papa._

 _And how exactly did you deal with your papa's death? You cried your heart out until the phantom reached out for you._

Deep down, she knew she couldn't do it. She had not, and still has not, come to terms with her own papa's death. So how was she supposed to pretend that the Girys were dead if they were still instructing and dancing in the very heart of Paris?

And _him…_

 _No, stop, stop! Stop thinking about that old madman! He has me under a spell!_

 _No he has not! He was the one who kept you from losing your mind when your papa died all those years ago!_

Christine rose from her seat in front of the dresser, discarding the robe she had been wearing and putting on her costume. _The final dance…_

It was that man's so-called masterpiece, the one that sweet Raoul took from his lair three months ago, and basically gave to the managers.

It was now published under the publisher's name. _He_ never got his credit.

Even with all her resentment towards her old tutor, she couldn't help but feel sorry for him, to have his work taken from him and claimed by someone else.

 _No point moping around it. Might as well get ready for my last._ She zipped the frilly dress on, hoping that _he_ would not kidnap her off the stage like three months ago in the middle of _Faust_.

 _Turn around…_

She abruptly turned to the large vanity mirror that formerly led to _his_ lair. _Is my mind playing tricks on me? Is he calling out to me now? Do I dare?_

Her fingers began to, on their own accord, push the tiny lever hidden amongst the intricate designs of the frame that opened the mirror and revealed the dark passageway.

Immediately, she sensed something was wrong. It was far too dark, far too cold, unlike those past times she willingly went down. It seemed almost dead, empty, as if…

 _Turn around…_

 _There it is again. But it's not coming from the passageway. And it is not his voice that calls out._

She paused, hovering at the border between reality and fantasy.

 _Do I dare enter? I should settle this once and for all._

 _No, you mustn't. They will be expecting you very soon._

 _Why not just deal the finishing blow to him already? I know I want to._

 _No, he has already suffered enough without you. Don't make it worse._

She, as if in a trance, reached her hand towards the darkness, stepping slowly down the dark corridor, the mirror silently shutting behind her. The dressing room door sounded knocks as it closed.

"Mademoiselle? It's time."

But she was already long gone.


	2. Part 2: The Final Descent

Part 2

 _What are you doing, Christine?! Go back, return to Raoul!_

 _He is of my least of concern right now, I want to end this once and for all!_

She steadily made her way down the dark passageways, careful not to miss a single step. _He_ had assured her that this passageway would always be free of worry for her, for it lead right to his lair. She had no reason to worry. Dark as it was, but she knew the entire path by heart.

Hands still groping aimlessly in the musty air, she was forced to remember the time when he made her claw at his face. What had he said then?

" _Feast your eyes, Christine! Feast your eyes and hands on Erik! Where are your hands, your hands?! Do you see now, Christine, what your foolishness has done to you? Oh Christine…"_ She could still hear his sobs. " _Why must you be so cruel to me…?"_

 _His_ name is Erik, she finally realized. She stopped walking and let the strange name flow from her mouth. "Erik…"

Why, it was a name from Scandinavia, just like her and her papa! She couldn't help but smile at this revelation and resumed walking with almost renewed purpose. _He_ _finally has a name to me. Erik. I'm liking how that sounds._

 _So why is it that only now that you recall his name?_

 _Oh, I don't know. He'll know for sure, all I must do is ask him._

 _What makes you think that he knows? He is only a mortal like you. A mortal who hid behind a mask._

 _Because he's not human! He's a monster who has been raising me, something beyond human level!_

 _You are such a fool. You classify him as a monster based on his face alone?_

 _It's not just his face! His very actions scream out monster!_

 _What actions? The only odd thing he has done is kidnap you, and plenty of people have been kidnapped, not just by disfigured geniuses._

 _And the chandelier, mind you! He killed the new box-keeper with a chandelier!_

 _He was merely protecting Madame Giry's job. You know the two are quite close. Couldn't you see? The sad look she had in her eyes every time she saw you as of late?_

 _That was not for him, I'm pretty sure, but for my trauma. It must be it, why would she show sympathy for him?_

 _You forget that it is she who delivers his notes. You don't know. You don't know what was going on between them._

She began to descend down the winding steps, which wrapped tightly around a pillar of concrete. One hand still in front of her, she found the other tracing the smooth concrete, so unlike the rest of the walls leading up to his lair.

 _Oh god, I'm closing in on his lair. What do I say? What will I do? Is he even still around here?_

She reached the very shores of the underground lake, and was disappointed to not see a boat docked nearby.

 _How am I going to get across? Think, Christine, think._ Her eyes scanned through the accustomed darkness, searching for signs of the boat. She finally found the boat, some 10 meters from her.

Eagerly, she rushed to the little wooden boat and bent down against it.

But it wasn't as it seemed. Not only rotten, the boat had clearly been destroyed by someone else. Chunks from the sides and bottom were missing, and she had a vague idea who did this.

 _Raoul. He did this during our escape._

Cursing angrily at her fiance, Christine got back up and unconsciously stepped into the water. She froze as the cold lake made contact with her skin.

 _Why do I insist on visiting him anyway? On the day of my wedding out of all days?_ She bemused. Taking no concern to her costume, she trudged onward through the cold, shallow lake, which was quickly rising up to her chest.

 _He must be bewitching me, that's why. Yes, I must go there and tell him to let me go._

 _No, you are not going there just to do that! You love him, don't you? In your own, twisted way._

Christine stopped at the center of the lake. _Love?_ She shook her head at that absurd thought. _That cannot be, I'm in love with Raoul._

 _Yet you currently flee from him and run into the arms of Erik. You, Christine, are a walking contradiction._

Back to walking ever so slowly, her mind still raced with her confusing thoughts.

 _Do I love him? Do I really?_

 _Yes, you must love him. Otherwise, why exactly are you going to his house._

 _Raoul! What about Raoul! I should go back! I really should!_

 _You've past the point of no return already. There's no going back. You've already gone so far on your journey._

Shivering as she finally reached the other side of the lake, she searched for the secret unguarded entrance that he… _Erik, you should get this in your head now!_ That Erik had showed her so long ago. It had been so long ago that, when she finally found the secret entrance, she was surprised that she actually still remembered its location.

 _What if he doesn't want to see me?_ She hesitated, fingers lingering over the tiny bronze grasshopper, amidst the other bumps meant to imitate wood on the bronze frame, that contained the secret latch. _What if he does not want to see me, what if he kills me for my actions?_

 _There's only one way to find out. You open the door and confront him. Then let's see if he actually is a monster._

Pushing gently with resolve on the grasshopper, the door clicked. As she removed her finger, she was surprised to find that the grasshopper had disintegrated under her finger. Tiny chunks of brass rained down onto the floor. She couldn't help but feel saddened at the sight.

 _No, you must carry on. The grasshopper is not the reason why you are here._

With a final glance at the lake behind her, she passed through the entrance, entering his lair.

Already she could tell something was off.

Once so vibrant and filled with light, the lair was dark, gloomy, and smelled strongly of liquor. The organ that she so fondly recalled was silent, and she could hear the sounds of water dripping from an unknown source. There was no sign of life.

"Angel?" she called out hesitantly.

" _Angel?... Angel?... Angel?..."_ The walls of his lair echoed right back at her, as if taunting her for using such a name to describe him.

 _It cannot be… he can't have left, could he? He achieved so much here in the opera house…_

 _You made him leave, don't you remember? You're the one who broke his broken heart into smithereens._

 _Brr… I'm cold._ She finally felt the coldness in the lake begin to take effect. Shivering, she made her way to the room _he_ … Erik had designated for her use. She knew that it would be stocked full of clothes specifically for her.

Unzipping the frilly dress and placing on a clean pair of robes, she returned back out the lair's common area.

 _So what do I do now? What is there to do, seeing that no one is here?_

 _You should just wait. Perhaps look around his vast library. There were many books that had sparked your interest, don't you remember? Like that copy of "Little Lotte" that he too possessed…_

With her mind made up, she walked to the library.

The library was just as dark and abandoned as the rest of his lair. There was not a single movement. Christine couldn't believe it. Not only was there no music coming from the lair, but there was no Erik…

 _Why am I hurt so much by the fact that Erik is no longer here? I should be happy and dancing for joy, not long for him._

She lit a candle that rested on a table in the center of the library, wishing to read while she awaited Erik's return. Immediately, she noticed a small, weathered journal of sorts right next to the candle. Curiously, she picked it up and flipped through the pages. It was chocked full of sloppy, childish handwriting which she would have recognized from anywhere. _The phantom._

 _What reason would he have to keep a journal? I don't recall him ever taking it out whenever I stayed here._

 _You are a fool, aren't you. You were never here for longer than one night. And you spent all of your time sleeping. You wouldn't know._

Returning back to the front page, she recognized the start date as the day of the masquerade.

 _1 January 1882._


	3. Part 3: The Final Date

Part 3

 _1 January 1882_

 _Why did she go out with that boy? Why does she toy with Erik's heart so? It hurts to see her running away from Erik, running and spilling out all of Erik's secrets like so. And she thinks that Erik cannot hear her! Oh, mad Christine. Why?_

"He overheard us…" she whispered guiltily. She flipped to the next page, curious to read what exactly had been going through his mind.

 _10 January 1882_

 _She doesn't want to see me. No, all she does is spend time with him now. No more does she spend time with Erik, no. All her love goes to that boy who has everything Erik does as well. A title? Erik has a title! He just never got to claim it. Money? Erik has money that he never told her about! Not just from those fools of managers, but also from honest investments! Love? Erik loves her way more than that excuse of a sailor who never once mailed her after he went out to sea!_

 _The only thing he has that Erik does not is a face. Yes, it must be because of Erik's face that she does not want to see Erik again._

 _Oh Christine…_

She couldn't help but release a sob. She really did abandon him after that night. No wonder he was so eager to get her back. Wiping away tears, she flipped the page.

 _30 January_

 _Today marks one month since Christine last visited Erik. Maybe Erik should talk to Christine through the walls again, remind her of her promise…_

 _No, Erik cannot do that. She'll just fall for him all over again. He holds her like a man does with reins on a horse, she'll always think of Erik as a murderer. Erik did not kill Buquet! Buquet fell into Erik's mirror chamber when he wasn't at home and died before Erik could get him out! But no, he spun so many elaborate lies about Erik, Erik doesn't stand a chance…_

 _6 February 1882_

 _Erik cannot take it anymore. To be apart from Christine hurts Erik's heart so much. She sings like a siren, as a siren who has the power to pull Erik, only to snap at Erik's heart!_

 _Oh Christine…_

 _27 February 1882_

 _Erik has decided. If Christine won't have Erik, then Erik will have Christine. Erik will have her on the premiere of Faust in two months' time. Just when she sings those lines, Erik will cause a diversion and take her._

 _What a fitting story. Erik had always loved Faust, for that line. How fitting…_

 _Christine will be mine._

 _He's been planning my kidnapping since the end of February?_ Christine frowned at the date. _Just how badly did he want me…?_

 _31 March 1882_

 _Everything is set for next month. Erik is ready, he has all the lights properly rigged to go out when Erik disconnects the wires._

 _Erik will have his Christine. Anyone in Erik's way will not live to tell._

 _28 April 1882_

 _Tomorrow is the premiere of Faust. Erik cannot wait for it to begin! Christine will be in Erik's arms again… And maybe she will give Erik a kiss. His first kiss from her…_

 _Christine must miss Erik by now, no? It has been nearly 5 months. Surely she'll give Erik one…_

 _1 May 1882_

 _Gone. She's gone for good. Erik cannot keep her with Erik, not when she has a rich, luxurious life with her Vicomte. She loves him so, even with all of his flaws. Why can't she love Erik for his flaws? He has done so many sins that she is unaware of, so, so many. He sleeps with the other girls, and yet she still wants him…_

Christine gagged upon reading about what Raoul had done behind her very back. _So that's where he's been going off to these past 10 months, whenever I am not with him!_ Just thinking about him now made her blood boil. Because Erik was speaking the truth there.

 _12 June 1882_

 _Their wedding is set to be on the 2 of August. Erik does not want to live to see it._

 _But Erik won't die. Erik has not been eating much at all this past month, and yet Erik still remains strong and healthy. Why can't Erik just die…?_

 _If it is for Christine's sake, then Erik will die. She will have nothing to fear when Erik is dead and gone. Erik will be out of her life forever._

 _Christine… Erik has not seen her since May. And Erik won't ever see her again..._

 _27 July 1882_

 _It hurts so much… Erik' s heart feels so heavy, it throbs and hurts Erik so. It is only 5 days until the wedding. Erik has not eaten much since forever, and Erik still won't die._

 _But Erik is feeling so tired. So very tired. She'll be happy to know that Erik is dying while she is living..._

The last entry was written only hours ago, for the ink was still fresh and, Christine was shocked to see, there was blood splattered across the page.

 _2 August 1882_

 _Today is the day of Christine's wedding. Erik… has been coughing up blood for the past 3 days. Erik feels so very weak and tired. Erik's hand… can barely write now, Erik can barely walk without leaning on something, Erik's eyes feel so tired and heavy. Erik's heart pounds so loudly, it hurts to hear it throbbing at Erik's ribs..._

 _Erik has lost it all. No one will remember Erik for who he is. Erik's works will never be published under Erik's name, not even the one the Vicomte stole from Erik. The palaces of Persia will crumble by the turn of the next millennium. And Christine's voice… what was the point of teaching her, if she won't sing again…?_

… _Christine will be happy to know that Erik is dying so slowly and painfully. She'll be glad to know that Erik is out of her life forever. She will be happy with her Vicomte, sharing all of the smiles and kisses that Erik will never get._

 _Erik wishes to see Christine again… Erik wishes to beg for her forgiveness, for one last chance with her… but that will never come. For Christine is going to be HIS today…_

… _Erik thinks it is time. Erik can barely keep focus anymore, and all Erik can think about is of Christine. Erik will head over to his coffin. If Erik is lucky, Death will come and finally claim Erik…_

 _And send him straight back to hell._

Tears splattered onto the final page, mixing in with Erik's blood. It hurt to think about what exactly was going on through Erik's mind, but it was clearly evident that is was all for her. "Oh Erik," she whimpered. She had gravely misunderstood him. Placing the little journal back on the table, Christine noticed a blood trail leading away from the library for the first time, now that there was light. As if in a trance, Christine slowly followed the blood trail, leading up to a dark door that she had never entered into before.

Cautiously, she opened it.

The light of her candle helped very little in this dark room, for even the wallpapers were black. Not a single splash of color in the room, save for the rose petals scattered around the bed.

 _The bed?_ Her eyes widened as she realized that it was a coffin, not a bed, that sat before her.

Fearfully, she approached the cold coffin. Reflecting light from the candle was a golden plate, reading:

 _In here lies Comte Erik de Chevalier_

 _1839-188_ _2_

 _The man with a hideous face that no one loved_

 _and who no one will remember other than_

 _as the Opera Ghost._

The 2 was scratched on shakily. _Did he scratch it on just hours ago?_ She couldn't help but wonder. Her eyes wandered onto several old newspaper clippings, searching for a deformed masked man who was going to be the heir of the de Chevalier estate.

 _So that's what he meant by having a title. He really was related to nobility._ She turned back to the coffin, suddenly having the urge to open it.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly raised the lid of the coffin.

The body inside was Erik, alright. He was decked out in full formal attire, from his tailcoat to his dress shoes. His mask, still on his face, bore many tear-stains that left marks on the mask. His mouth was pulled into somewhat of a whimper, and his gloved hands clutched at his heart.

 _Oh Erik…_

He was clearly dead. There was no denying it. And for some strange reason, Christine did not feel like she accomplished anything. Rather, she felt as if someone had sliced her into two.

 _This isn't how it was supposed to turn out! I didn't want him dead!_

 _Well, look at what you have done now, aren't you proud of yourself? He's dead at your hands!_

 _No… no! It cannot be… he's still alive, why do I still feel connected to him?!_

 _Because you are in love with him, that's why! He gave up living just for you…_

 _So I really do love him... I don't think I can live with the knowledge of having influenced his death..._

She reached down and placed a gentle kiss onto his pale, thin lips.

It seemed to her as if the lips took on a slight smile as she withdrew.

She knew what she had to do.


	4. Part 4: The Final Destination

Part 4

"Are you sure this is the right way?"

"Yes, I am sure, Monsieur."

It had been nearly twenty years since the day of the planned wedding. For twenty years, Raoul de Chagny combed through the catacombs, just like the past. Except this time, he did not have the Persian with him.

His bride-to-be had suddenly vanished just minutes before the beginning of her final dance, and he had good reason to suspect who had taken her.

 _Him._

Who else could it have been? He had finally chosen the day of their wedding to claim her back!

He never gave up searching for her, despite the interests of other girls. It was _his_ Christine, not the phantom's, and he will not stop until Christine was back in his arms.

Unfortunately, this meant that Raoul had to search the catacombs for her. He doubted that this phantom figure could've ever escaped undetected, seeing as the mask would stand out wherever he went, no matter which country.

But there was no sign of any masked man, not in France, nor in Germany, not even in America.

He highly doubted that he even left the catacombs. He _must_ still be in here, holding Christine captive. Keeping her from him.

The search party had been going on for twenty years, and almost always the passageways led them back to where they started. It was getting repetitive and tiring for the party, yet Raoul would have none of it. He had to constantly hire new members to search with him, and thus they never made much progress in the maze of passageways.

Still fuming about the change in the search party, he suddenly realized that he was walking past different-textured stone.

"Ah! Gentlemen, this must be it!" he excitedly pointed at the difference in the wall. "Quick, get someone to tear down the stone!"

It wasn't long before that entire section of the wall crumbled due to the age and the beatings. Already, they could see what used to be someone's furnishings through the hole in the wall.

"You guys stay here," Raoul warned. "I'm going in." He cautiously stepped into the hole, taking his time to admire the antique beauty of the surroundings.

He had to admit, the phantom did have style. Despite the thick layer of dust on top of nearly everything in his lair, it still held faint, potential beauty.

There was not a single sound of life.

"Christine?"

" _Christine? Christine?... Christine… ?"_ Some dust was disturbed by the echo and steadily rained down, creating something akin to mist. Shaking slightly at the ominous occurrence, he continued onward. Fortunately, the lantern in his hand had a covering, so he wasn't afraid of the flame dying out.

He was afraid of what the dust implied.

 _Are they no longer here? Did I spend my past twenty years searching for nothing?_

He quickly noticed the blood trail on the floor, blurred by the dust. Fearful, he bent down to examine it, noticing that the blood dried long ago. He let out a sigh of relief, accidently blowing away some of the dust. He got up and began to follow the trail.

Eventually, he found himself in front of a dark door.

He opened it.

The room was silent, dark, and as dusty as all the others. In the middle of the room was a coffin, with a journal lying on the very top of the coffin. He picked it up, flipping through the pages and noticing that this was the phantom's.

 _How did he know about my affairs? Did he really stay away from Christine for that long? Hell, I could barely keep away for a day… He must genuinely love her…_

He flipped to the final page, noticing that this last entry was written in blood. And in Christine's handwriting.

 _2 August 1882_

 _I cannot stand it anymore. Now that I realize that I love him, he is gone. I can do nothing to reverse the damages I have done upon him. His masterpiece, Don Juan, published under another name because of me… I condemned him to crimes he did not do, just because of Raoul..._

 _And I cannot face Raoul, knowing that he has done so much behind my back…_

 _The fact that he lies before me, dead because of me, is when I finally acknowledge that he and I should have been together. That I am drawn to him as a moth to a flame. That even now, as I write this in my own blood, that it is not his face which ever bothered me, but rather his unearthly powers._

 _I too am starting to feel weak from my blood loss. No, this is nothing in comparison to what he felt like in those three months leading up to his death._

 _Forgive me Erik. I have failed you._

 _But forever shall we part nevermore._

 _-Christine Daae_

Not knowing why, but Raoul suddenly had the urge to throw open the coffin. He did just that.

Two skeletons, clad in a formal suit and a bridal gown, were locked in a deep embrace, their teeth touching as if they had been kissing when they died. The white gown bore bloodstains around the sleeves; otherwise, it looked as if they had just married.

Raoul collapsed in front of the coffin, breaking down into heavy sobs.

 _She's been dead for twenty years. She wanted him over me._

 _I shall hear her voice nevermore._

* * *

An hour after Raoul left the search party, they became restless and entered the lair themselves. They found Raoul, slumped on the floor, clutching his stopped heart.

One final entry was added to the journal in his other hand.

 _I forgive you, Christine... Forgive me, Christine..._


End file.
